# Several Days Later – Liber Alley
The hot dog cart squatting on the corner of Worth and Church Streets looked like it had been personally victimized by every New York City health inspector since the Carter administration. The umbrella hung at a dejected angle that suggested it had given up on life sometime around the Clinton years, ketchup stains decorated the sides in patterns that could have been abstract art or evidence of culinary crimes against humanity, and the hand-painted menu board looked like someone had started updating it in 1987 and then remembered they had literally anything else to do.
Ben Parker stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the cart with the expression of a man who'd been promised magical wonders and was currently looking at what appeared to be a mobile grease distribution center with delusions of grandeur. His usual warmth was temporarily overshadowed by practical skepticism, his khakis and button-down shirt making him look like the kind of responsible adult who read consumer reports before making any purchase larger than a sandwich.
"Aurora," he said with the patient tone of someone who'd spent years managing teenagers and had developed immunity to disappointment, "I've got to be honest here—this looks less like the gateway to magical New York and more like a cholesterol delivery system with commitment issues."
May Parker nudged him with her elbow, her maternal energy crackling with fond exasperation as she adjusted the strap of her practical shoulder bag. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun that somehow looked effortlessly stylish, and her jeans-and-sweater combination managed to look both comfortable and put-together in that way that suggested she'd mastered the art of looking good while being prepared for anything.
"Ben, honey, we've seen moving staircases and talking paintings in the past week," she said with the voice of someone who'd learned to roll with increasingly impossible circumstances. "I think we can manage a suspicious hot dog cart."
Harry Potter-Parker stood between them, his emerald green eyes sparkling with the kind of mischievous curiosity that would have made James Potter proud. At nine years old, he'd grown into his height just enough that his limbs didn't look completely out of proportion, but he still moved with that loose-limbed ease that suggested he wasn't entirely sure where all his joints were supposed to go at any given moment. His dark hair fell across his forehead in artfully tousled waves that looked effortless but probably took actual effort to achieve, and the baseball cap pulled low over his features couldn't quite hide the lightning bolt scar that had made him famous in a world he was only just beginning to understand.
"I dunno, Dad," Harry said with that particular mix of boyish charm and underlying steel that made simple observations sound profound, "we've seen magic hiding in some pretty weird disguises. A sketchy hot dog cart feels about right for New York. It's like... authentically suspicious."
His voice was starting to carry that slightly deeper tone that suggested he was hitting one of those growth spurts where kids started sounding almost like the adults they'd eventually become, and there was something in his posture—straight-backed but relaxed, alert but not tense—that suggested natural leadership qualities that were still developing but definitely present.
Peter Parker was practically vibrating with excitement, his energy so intense it seemed to create its own gravitational field. His brown hair was doing that impossible thing where it stuck up in twelve different directions despite his obvious attempts to tame it with what appeared to be an entire bottle of styling gel, and his clothes looked like he'd gotten dressed while bouncing on a trampoline. He clutched his phone like it was a sacred relic, already angling for the perfect shot of what might be the most mundane magical entrance in history.
"Okay, but seriously though," Peter said, his words tumbling out with the rapid-fire intensity of someone whose brain was operating at approximately twice the speed of normal human conversation, "what's the password situation here? Are we talking about something cool and mysterious like 'flame-broiled freedom dogs' or 'liberty with a side of mustard' or maybe something totally normal like 'I'll take a hot dog with everything' but you have to say it in a specific magical tone that—"
"Peter," Gwen Stacy interrupted, looking up from her notebook where she'd been systematically documenting every detail of their magical education experience with the methodical thoroughness of someone who planned to write the definitive guide to American magical institutions, "maybe let the professionals handle the secret password situation before you accidentally trigger some kind of magical security system by overthinking it?"
Gwen had that particular combination of intelligence, competence, and barely contained amusement that made her seem older than her fifteen years without losing any of her essential teenager-ness. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail that somehow still looked polished, her clothes were the kind of casually put-together combination that suggested she'd figured out how to look effortlessly stylish, and she had a way of delivering observations that were simultaneously gentle and devastatingly accurate.
"I'm not overthinking it," Peter protested, his voice climbing toward that higher register that suggested his anxiety levels were approaching critical mass. "I'm just trying to understand the underlying systematic approaches to magical security protocols so that I don't accidentally—"
"You're definitely overthinking it," MJ Watson said without looking up from her sketchbook, where she appeared to be drawing the hot dog cart with artistic precision that somehow made it look both exactly accurate and infinitely more interesting than it actually was.
MJ had an intensity that suggested she saw the world in colors and compositions that other people missed entirely. Her copper-red hair caught the late morning sunlight like spun fire, her sharp green eyes tracked every detail with artistic precision, and she moved with the controlled grace of someone who'd spent years in dance classes and theater rehearsals but had never lost the essential restless energy that drove her creativity.
"It's just a hot dog cart, Parker," she continued with fond exasperation. "Sometimes the most obvious answer is the actual answer, no matter how much your brain wants to complicate it with theoretical frameworks and systematic analysis."
Ned Leeds bounced on his toes with enthusiasm, clutching Felix the Pygmy Puff against his shoulder like a furry purple stress ball that occasionally squeaked encouragement. His round face was bright with excitement, his dark hair looked like he'd been running his hands through it while thinking about something fascinating, and his entire demeanor radiated the kind of infectious joy that made everyone around him want to smile.
"But what if it's both obvious and complicated?" Ned asked with genuine curiosity, because Ned had never met a concept he didn't want to understand from at least six different angles. "Like, what if the password is something totally normal that sounds innocent to regular people, but it's actually encoded with magical significance that triggers the entrance mechanism? That would be brilliant from a security standpoint and also totally in keeping with the whole 'hiding in plain sight' thing that magic seems to love."
Felix squeaked what might have been agreement, or possibly a request for treats, or perhaps commentary on the philosophical implications of dual-purpose communication systems. With Pygmy Puffs, Ned had learned, it was often all three simultaneously.
Felicia Hardy examined her perfectly manicured nails with confidence, her platinum-blonde hair falling in effortless waves that somehow managed to look like she'd just stepped off a magazine cover despite spending the morning walking through Manhattan. Her blue eyes sparkled with the kind of mischief that suggested she was always three steps ahead of whatever conversation was happening around her, and she had that particular quality of making everything she did look like it had been choreographed by someone who understood that life was supposed to be entertaining.
"Honestly," she said with that musical voice that made even casual observations sound like they belonged in a sophisticated rom-com, "you're all overthinking this. Magic wants to be discovered by the right people at the right time. The universe is probably arranging this entire situation for maximum dramatic impact and optimal timing."
She gestured elegantly at the hot dog cart with the kind of casual gesture that somehow made suspicious street food look like it was part of an elaborate performance art piece.
"Plus, I've got a really good feeling about this," she added with the serene confidence of someone whose cosmic relationship with favorable circumstances had never let her down. "The universe has been consistently excellent at providing exactly what we need exactly when we need it. I trust the process."
Aurora Sinclair swept forward with authority, her robes somehow managing to look both traditionally magical and perfectly adapted to Manhattan street fashion. Her silver hair was arranged with the kind of effortless elegance that suggested a professional styling team, her posture radiated confidence and competence, and she moved with the theatrical presence of someone who could make reading the phone book sound like the opening keynote at a major international conference.
"Magic," Aurora announced with the kind of dramatic timing that suggested she'd been waiting for exactly this moment to make exactly this point, "thrives under camouflage. The more mundane and unremarkable the exterior, the more extraordinary the reality it conceals. Non-magicals see what they expect to see, and absolutely no one expects transcendence behind a hot dog cart with questionable health inspection ratings."
She approached the cart with the confidence of someone who'd done this exact thing approximately a thousand times and found it entertaining every single time. The vendor—who had cultivated the very definition of "generic New Yorker" in a Yankees cap, faded jeans, and the kind of aggressive ordinariness that was almost certainly too perfect to be real—looked up with practiced customer service indifference.
Aurora placed her order with ceremonial gravity: "Two everything bagels with a side of wonder, please."
The vendor didn't even blink, his expression remaining perfectly neutral as he replied, "You want that wonder to go, or you dining in today?"
"Dining in," Aurora confirmed with the solemnity of someone confirming arrangements for a state dinner.
The hot dog cart promptly folded in on itself with the smooth, physics-defying grace of origami performed by someone who'd never heard of the limitations of three-dimensional space and wasn't particularly concerned about learning them now. Metal and canvas rearranged themselves in patterns that definitely shouldn't have been possible, revealing a narrow alley lined with brick buildings that absolutely hadn't been there thirty seconds earlier.
Harry's grin spread across his face with slow, delighted wonder, his emerald eyes lighting up with the kind of genuine amazement that made him look exactly like the nine-year-old he was underneath all that premature wisdom and unconscious leadership presence.
"Okay, that's significantly cooler than a brick wall rearranging itself," he said with obvious appreciation for dramatic magical reveals. "More style, better special effects, and probably higher property values."
"Much more New York," MJ agreed, studying the revealed magical architecture with artist's appreciation for the way it managed to look both ancient and completely integrated into the Manhattan urban landscape. Her sharp eyes tracked the impossible geometry with the kind of systematic attention she usually reserved for particularly challenging sketching subjects.
"It's like someone took Diagon Alley and gave it a local accent," she continued, already pulling out her sketchbook to capture the architectural impossibilities. "Same basic concept, but with American magical sensibilities and probably better customer service policies."
Peter was already photographing everything with manic enthusiasm, his restless energy completely unleashed as he documented what was clearly going to be the most educationally significant photo series in the history of his phone's memory storage.
"Oh my God, do you see this?" he said, his voice cracking slightly with excitement as he pointed his camera at a shop window that appeared to contain significantly more interior space than the building's exterior dimensions should have allowed. "The spatial geometry here is completely impossible! Those windows are displaying merchandise in like four different dimensional planes simultaneously! How is that even—I mean, what kind of mathematical framework would you need to—this is like applied theoretical physics with better marketing!"
Gwen looked up from her notebook, where she'd been taking systematic notes about magical urban planning with the methodical precision of someone who planned to understand every aspect of this experience well enough to write a comprehensive analysis later.
"Question," she said with directness, pointing toward a shop where the awning appeared to be folded into an infinity symbol while somehow still providing normal weather protection, "do building inspectors just... not see this stuff? Or is there some kind of magical building code that governs impossible architecture? Because I'm pretty sure that fire escape is defying at least three different laws of physics."
Phillip Watson had already pulled out his leather notebook and was scribbling observations with intensity, his rapid-fire analytical mind clearly trying to process the intersection of magical theory and urban planning principles. His dark hair was even more disheveled than usual, his clothes had that rumpled elegance of someone who'd been thinking too hard to worry about ironing, and his eyes had that slightly manic gleam that suggested he was making connections faster than he could write them down.
"Fascinating," he murmured, his voice taking on that distinctive cadence that made every observation sound like it was part of a broader philosophical inquiry into the nature of existence itself, "absolutely fascinating. We're looking at a magical enclave that's been, uh, systematically integrated into the existing urban infrastructure. This represents a completely different approach to magical community organization than what we observed in London—less medieval isolation, more adaptive integration with contemporary municipal systems."
He gestured wildly with his pen, nearly poking Madelyn in the process.
"The implications for magical sociology are extraordinary," he continued, his enthusiasm building with each word. "We're talking about a magical community that's chosen assimilation over separation, practical accessibility over atmospheric intimidation. This could represent a fundamental difference in magical cultural values between British and American magical—"
"Honey," Madelyn Watson interrupted with warmth, her red hair catching the light as she gently closed his notebook before he could disappear completely into theoretical framework development, "maybe experience the magical neighborhood before you start writing your dissertation about it?"
Madelyn had that particular elegance that suggested she'd been stunning when she was younger and had aged into something even more impressive—a woman who knew exactly who she was and was completely comfortable with it. Her sophisticated beauty was matched by practical intelligence and the kind of patient humor that came from years of managing brilliant people who sometimes forgot to live in the real world while they were busy analyzing it.
"But the preliminary theoretical framework is crucial for proper observational methodology," Phillip protested, his voice taking on the passionate intensity of someone defending a fundamental principle of scientific inquiry. "If we don't establish our analytical baseline, how can we properly assess the sociocultural integration patterns and infrastructural adaptation strategies—"
"Philip," Madelyn said with gentle but firm authority, reaching over to take his pen away with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd been through this exact conversation many times before, "notebook down. Experience first, analysis second."
"But what if I forget important observational details while we're—"
"You won't," she said with the absolute confidence of someone who'd been married to a brilliant, obsessive academic for years and knew exactly how his memory worked. "You never forget anything that interests you. And this clearly interests you very much."
Felicia smirked with satisfaction, her lucky intuition apparently extending to predicting family dynamics as well as favorable circumstances.
"I like their relationship," she said with obvious approval. "Very balanced. He does the overthinking, she does the reality management. It's like a perfectly coordinated dance where one person provides the academic intensity and the other person makes sure they don't walk into traffic while contemplating theoretical frameworks."
Walter Hardy crossed his arms and surveyed the magical alley with intensity, his security consultant instincts clearly engaged by the sophisticated camouflage and integration systems they were witnessing. His dark hair was streaked with silver in a way that made him look distinguished rather than old, his clothes were casual but somehow still looked tactical, and his eyes had that sharp, assessing quality that came from years of evaluating potential threats and security vulnerabilities.
"Impressive operational security," he said with professional appreciation for well-executed concealment strategies. "The integration with existing urban infrastructure is seamless. Non-magical foot traffic probably flows right past this location without any conscious awareness of anomalous activity."
He paused, studying a shop where the door appeared to be opening into a space that was definitely larger than the building it was attached to.
"Though I have questions about structural engineering oversight," he continued with characteristic attention to potential safety concerns. "Some of these architectural modifications seem to push the boundaries of what's physically sustainable, even with magical enhancement."
George Stacy nodded with practicality, his cop instincts clearly appreciating both the security benefits and the potential regulatory complications of magical urban development.
"Yeah, but look at the crowd management," he said, gesturing toward the way foot traffic seemed to flow through the narrow alley with impossible efficiency despite there being far more people than the space should have been able to accommodate. "No congestion, no bottlenecks, everybody gets where they're going without stepping on each other. I've seen subway stations with worse pedestrian flow during rush hour."
George had that weathered, no-nonsense presence that came from years of dealing with everything New York City could throw at him while maintaining both his sanity and his sense of humor. His Brooklyn accent added an edge to his observations that suggested he'd seen enough weird stuff in his career that magical urban planning was just another interesting problem to be understood and managed.
"Plus the vendor coordination is remarkable," he continued, watching a series of magical food carts serve customers with supernatural efficiency. "Look at that—six different merchants operating in overlapping spaces without any conflicts or confusion. That's better logistics than most police precincts manage."
George Leeds stood next to his wife with practical skepticism, his engineering background clearly struggling to process architectural impossibilities that violated every principle of structural integrity he'd ever learned.
"Okay, but how is any of this up to code?" he asked with the resigned tone of someone who'd spent years working within regulatory frameworks and couldn't turn off his professional concern for safety standards even in obviously magical contexts. "I mean, forget the magical aspects for a minute—some of these buildings appear to be supporting significantly more weight than their foundations should be able to handle. What happens during earthquake? Hurricane? Basic settling?"
His accent carried that particular quality of making practical questions sound like he was simultaneously exasperated by human inefficiency and grudgingly impressed by creative problem-solving.
"And don't even get me started on the electrical systems," he continued, pointing toward what appeared to be magical lighting that operated without any visible power source. "Where's the main electrical feed? Backup generators? Emergency lighting? Fire suppression systems that actually work with magical fire instead of just regular fire?"
Helen Leeds patted her husband's arm with affection, her expression carrying that particular combination of fond exasperation and genuine love that came from years of being married to someone whose brain was perpetually concerned with practical details that other people never thought to worry about.
"Honey," she said with her distinctive Ali Wong delivery that made even gentle corrections sound like perfectly timed comedy, "you're trying to apply normal building standards to a magical shopping district. It's like trying to use a calculator to measure love—the tools don't match the subject matter."
Helen had that particular maternal energy that suggested she could manage a household, a career, and a family crisis simultaneously while making it all look effortless and entertaining. Her practical intelligence was matched by a sense of humor that had been tested by years of marriage and parenthood and had emerged stronger and more razor-sharp than ever.
"Besides," she continued with that perfectly timed pause that suggested years of experience with comedic delivery, "if magical people have been doing this for centuries without major structural disasters, they probably know something about magical engineering that's not covered in your textbooks."
"That's what I'm worried about," George muttered, but he was fighting a smile that suggested he found his wife's logic both annoying and ultimately convincing.
Ned had already managed to collect approximately seventeen different pamphlets from various merchants, his enthusiasm completely unleashed as he discovered that magical customer service included comprehensive educational materials about every product and service available.
"Guys, guys, look at this," he said, holding up a brochure that appeared to be advertising magical orthodontic services, "they have braces that adjust themselves overnight based on optimal bite alignment algorithms! And look—" He produced another pamphlet with flourish. "Magical pet grooming that includes personality enhancement treatments! Felix could become even more awesome than he already is!"
Felix, perched on Ned's shoulder, squeaked what sounded like enthusiastic agreement, or possibly a demand for treats, or perhaps commentary on the commercialization of magical creature aesthetics. With Pygmy Puffs, the three options were often indistinguishable.
"Ned," Harry said with fond exasperation, tugging his baseball cap lower to make sure his scar remained hidden, "Felix is already perfect exactly the way he is. He doesn't need personality enhancement treatments. He's got plenty of personality."
"But what if he could have even more personality?" Ned asked with the kind of sincere curiosity that made ridiculous questions sound almost reasonable. "Like, what if there are aspects of his natural Pygmy Puff potential that we haven't discovered yet because he's been operating within normal personality parameters?"
Harry's emerald eyes sparkled with mischief as he considered this possibility with mock seriousness. "You're right. Felix might be secretly harboring untapped comedic genius or hidden philosophical insights. We should definitely investigate magical personality enhancement for essential educational purposes."
"Exactly!" Ned said with triumph, completely missing the gentle mockery in Harry's tone. "This is important research!"
MJ looked up from her sketchbook with skepticism, one perfectly arched eyebrow conveying volumes about her opinion of magical pet personality modification.
"Or," she said with that particular MJ delivery that made common sense sound revolutionary, "we could let Felix be Felix and focus on the fact that we're standing in the middle of a magical shopping district that probably has more interesting things to offer than cosmetic improvements for already-perfect pets."
Liber Alley stretched ahead of them with distinctly American magical sensibilities that managed to be both familiar and completely extraordinary. Where Diagon Alley had been all ancient stones and medieval atmosphere, Liber Alley looked like someone had taken a perfectly normal New York side street and systematically upgraded every single element with thoughtful magical improvements that prioritized function and style in equal measure.
The buildings were classic Manhattan—brownstones and brick, fire escapes and storefronts—but enhanced with architectural details that definitely weren't included in standard construction codes. Fire escapes moved like steel vines, adjusting their positions to provide optimal access while somehow looking completely natural. Window displays contained more space than the windows themselves should have been able to hold, showcasing magical goods with the kind of sophisticated marketing that suggested centuries of experience with American consumer culture and competitive retail environments.
Street vendors sold magical newspapers that updated their headlines in real time, coffee that maintained perfect drinking temperature indefinitely, and what appeared to be hot dogs that actually were magical—floating condiment stations that responded to customer preferences and buns that toasted themselves to individual specifications without any visible heat source.
"It's like if SoHo had been designed by wizards with graduate degrees in urban planning and customer experience optimization," Felicia observed with obvious appreciation for the aesthetic upgrades, her Milly Alcock confidence extending to architectural criticism with sophisticated marketing analysis.
"With significantly better customer service," Walter noted, watching a magical vendor efficiently serve six customers simultaneously through what appeared to be carefully coordinated multitasking spells that would have made any McDonald's manager weep with envy.
"And probably better health inspection ratings," May added, watching a food cart clean itself with magical efficiency that made normal restaurant sanitation procedures look primitive and time-consuming.
The group moved down the alley with systematic exploration that characterized their approach to any new environment. Peter documented everything with photos and rapid-fire observations, his energy making him look like a tourist on his first visit to Times Square but with significantly better scientific methodology. MJ sketched architectural details in her notebook with artistic precision, capturing impossible geometries with the kind of casual skill that made it look effortless. Gwen asked practical questions about municipal planning and magical infrastructure with intelligence, her systematic mind working through the implications of magical integration with existing city services.
Ned collected what appeared to be every available pamphlet about local magical services, his enthusiasm making him the unofficial documentation specialist for consumer resources and educational opportunities. Felicia somehow managed to look perfectly at home despite this being her first visit to any magical shopping district, her confidence extending to navigating impossible spaces with the kind of natural grace that suggested the universe had specifically arranged the architecture for her convenience.
Harry walked in the middle of the group with his hood up and baseball cap pulled low, but his emerald green eyes were bright with curiosity as he took in every detail of what was essentially his first real introduction to magical commerce in America. Despite his protective disguise, his natural leadership qualities were evident in the way he unconsciously coordinated the group's movement, making sure everyone stayed together while somehow managing not to look like he was taking charge.
"This feels different from Diagon Alley," he said with that particular Harry insight that cut through surface details to essential differences, his voice carrying just enough volume to include everyone in the observation. "Less intimidating. More... welcoming, I guess. Like it wants you to feel comfortable instead of impressed."
"That's exactly right," Aurora said with approval, her theatrical presence somehow making the educational moment feel like a masterclass in comparative magical sociology. "British magical architecture emphasizes tradition and historical continuity. American magical spaces prioritize accessibility and practical innovation. Different cultural values, different design philosophies."
"Plus," Ben added with warmth, his paternal instincts clearly pleased by the institutional competence the magical district projected, "this looks like a place that's designed to serve a community rather than intimidate newcomers. I appreciate that in any educational environment."
As they continued down the alley, the sounds around them created a symphony of productive magical activity—focused conversations about spell theory, the controlled discharge of practice magic, patient explanations of complex concepts, and the general atmosphere of learning happening at a comfortable pace that suggested real education rather than academic intimidation.
"The training facility," Aurora announced with theatrical timing, gesturing toward a building that managed to look both completely ordinary and subtly extraordinary, "is just ahead."
The Liber Institute of Practical Magic rose solid and welcoming, all red brick and wide windows that showed glimpses of activities inside. The building had the kind of substantial, confident presence that suggested serious educational purposes combined with American accessibility—more prep academy than medieval fortress, with clear signage, obvious entrances, and architectural features that prioritized function over atmospheric intimidation.
"Now that," Ben said with satisfaction, his warm smile indicating genuine approval, "looks like a place where teaching actually matters more than tradition."
May nodded with practical assessment, her protective instincts clearly pleased by what appeared to be a genuinely supportive educational environment.
"It looks professional without being pretentious," she said with the voice of someone who'd evaluated plenty of schools and knew the difference between institutions that cared about students and institutions that cared about their own reputation. "Like they're more interested in helping kids learn than in maintaining some kind of mystical atmosphere."
Inside the building, they could hear the sounds of real learning happening—patient lectures delivered with obvious expertise, the controlled thrum of magical energy being directed with precision and safety, comfortable conversations between instructors and students, and the general atmosphere of an educational environment where curiosity was encouraged and mistakes were treated as learning opportunities rather than failures.
Peter was practically vibrating with excitement, his entire body language suggesting he was approximately three seconds away from spontaneous combustion due to excessive enthusiasm.
"This is going to be incredible," he said, his voice cracking slightly as he bounced on his toes with barely contained energy. "I mean, actual magic lessons! With qualified instructors! And proper safety protocols! And systematic curriculum development! And probably actual textbooks that don't burst into flames when you open them!"
Gwen looked up from her notebook with amusement, her practical intelligence clearly appreciating Peter's enthusiasm while also recognizing the need for someone to maintain perspective.
"Peter," she said with fond exasperation, "try to contain your excitement until we actually get inside. I don't want to explain to the magical paramedics why our friend spontaneously combusted from anticipation before we even started classes."
"I'm not going to spontaneously combust," Peter protested, his gestures becoming more animated as his excitement increased. "I'm just expressing appropriate enthusiasm for unprecedented educational opportunities! This is like... like Christmas morning and the first day of school and winning the science fair all happening simultaneously!"
MJ grinned with artistic appreciation for dramatic declarations, her sharp eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Peter," she said with that particular MJ delivery that made observations sound like perfectly timed punchlines, "you realize you just compared magic school to winning a science fair, right? That's probably the most Peter Parker thing anyone has ever said in the history of Peter Parker things."
Ned laughed with delight, Felix squeaking what might have been agreement from his shoulder perch.
"I give him two hours before he tries to apply scientific methodology to spell casting," Ned said with the confidence of someone who'd been observing Peter's approaches to new subjects for months and could predict his patterns with impressive accuracy.
"Two hours?" Felicia asked with skepticism, examining her nails with casual precision. "I give him twenty minutes. Maybe less if they start with anything that involves measurable energy output."
Harry grinned with charm, his emerald eyes bright with anticipation and genuine affection for his friends' predictable quirks.
"Why not both?" he asked with that particular Harry logic that made complicated situations seem simple and obvious. "Peter can apply scientific methodology to magic, and magic can probably improve scientific methodology. Win-win situation."
Aurora placed her hand on the building's entrance with theatrical timing, her elegant presence making the moment feel ceremonial and significant.
"Ready?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer and was simply allowing them the satisfaction of confirming their enthusiasm.
"More than ready," Peter said, his energy reaching what appeared to be maximum sustainable levels. "I've never been more ready for anything in my entire life. Well, okay, maybe that time the new Marvel movie came out and I'd been waiting for like eight months, but this is definitely close. This might actually be better than Marvel movies. Is that possible? Can real life be better than Marvel movies?"
"We're about to find out," Harry said with confidence, pushing his hood back just enough to reveal those remarkable emerald eyes blazing with excitement and anticipation. "This is going to be the best six weeks ever."
Gwen closed her notebook with decisiveness, her systematic documentation temporarily suspended in favor of actually experiencing the moment they'd all been preparing for.
"Alright," she said with practical enthusiasm that matched her methodical approach to new experiences, "let's go learn some magic."
MJ tucked her sketchbook away with artistic satisfaction, her creative instincts clearly excited about the visual and conceptual possibilities of magical education.
"Finally," she said with that particular MJ intensity that made simple statements sound like profound artistic declarations. "Time to see what we're actually capable of."
Ned clutched his pamphlet collection with determination, Felix squeaking encouragement from his shoulder perch.
"This is going to be legendary," he declared with absolute conviction. "Like, historically legendary. Future generations are going to write epic songs about this exact moment."
Felicia smirked with confidence, her lucky intuition clearly suggesting favorable outcomes for their educational adventure.
"I give us two hours before someone accidentally discovers a new type of magic," she said with serene certainty. "The universe loves overachievers, and we're definitely overachievers."
And with that prediction hanging in the air like a challenge and a promise, they stepped through the doors of the Liber Institute of Practical Magic—five teenagers, one nine-year-old, and a collection of adults who'd somehow found themselves responsible for shepherding the next generation of magical education into existence.
The adventure was just beginning, and if their track record was any indication, it was going to be absolutely extraordinary.
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